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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555980">Joys</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:55:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Leo sees a spark of humanity in the distance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Manfred/Markus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Joys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: My boy Bryce started <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xp4pk5VKIwY">a blind DBH Let’s Play</a> and had fun splashing in puddles as Markus. :,) What if Leo saw?</p><p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a time when Leo didn’t even notice androids—he could see the same model in twenty different places and never clue in, because he doesn’t really <i>look</i> at the faces of people he passes; they all just blend together in a sea of strangers. Then one certain android came along with the absolute <i>perfect</i> face, perfect body, the sort of chiseled, fantasy looks most models would die for, and suddenly Leo can’t <i>stop</i> seeing the dull repetition of androids. <i>Other</i> androids. Most androids are a dime a dozen. He’s gotten to the point where he’s memorized most of their faces and could sketch any one on command, though he’s never quite had his father’s artistic talent and hasn’t properly sketched since college.</p><p>Before <i>ice</i>. Leo shudders mid-thought and climbs off the bus, grateful to not have the blank stares of half a dozen androids boring holes into the back of his head anymore. Except there’s an android working at the nearby hot-dog stand, and another android sweeping around the square. Wrinkling his nose, Leo goes out of his way to take the long route around. He doesn’t care if it takes him twice as long to get across town with all the needless detours. It’s worth the extra few seconds every time to see an actual <i>human</i> behind a different hot-dog stand, and a man playing a guitar by the fountain, singing <i>organic</i> music. It’s half-drowned out by nearby protestors, but that’s nothing new. Leo would join them if he had the balls. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to get caught in a rally and given another misdemeanor—he’s on thin legal ice as it is.   </p><p>A truck pulls right up over the pavement, and android workers get out to start delivering packages from it. They all have the exact same face. Those faces have the same eerie, lifeless quality that all androids do.</p><p><i>Almost</i> all androids. There is <i>one</i> that doesn’t have the same cookie-cutter features, that <i>might</i> have light behind his eyes—<i>it’s</i> eyes—but Leo tries not to think about that one. He tries not to dwell on how he’s never seen anyone else even remotely like Markus, and he’s definitely looked. </p><p>Not on purpose, of course. Just while he’s stuck at a bus stop or in line at the mall or crashing in the park because he’s locked himself out again. Sometimes he watches the walking tin-cans stroll by him and wonders: <i>why are none of them as handsome as his father’s?</i></p><p>Then he spots those familiar broad shoulders across the way, the same tan skin and closed-cropped hair, a grey jacket and black pants stretch tight across a rear that Leo definitely recognizes. Not that he’s spent an inordinate amount of times staring at it. Just enough. He watches Markus’ head tilt down, back turned so Leo can’t <i>quite</i> see what he’s staring at, except that it’s down low—and then Markus walks in a little circle like he’s glitching out. </p><p>He stops, staring at his own reflection in a puddle, and steps in it. The other foot joins the first. He does another tiny circle and lands in the next puddle over, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his synthetic lips. If Leo didn’t know better, he’d say Markus looked <i>curious</i>, maybe even <i>amused</i>, like a human child out in the rain. No one else pays him any mind, because his blue band and LED denote him just another mindless android. And no one else seems to notice that he’s a <i>unique</i> model: a man with a gorgeous face not sold in stores, a strong, full-grown body, but the playful innocence of an infant. He walks through the puddle one more time, eyes still too transfixed on the ground to notice Leo, and then his LED winks yellow.</p><p>Processing. Orders. Leo’s never been absolutely certain what that means. But Markus frowns and straightens up, so maybe it’s his software correcting itself, putting him back on target. Carl must’ve sent him out for something, not to <i>splash in puddles.</i></p><p>Markus abruptly walks off. Leo, like usual, is tempted to follow. </p><p>It’d be so easy to go grab Markus’ shoulder. To turn him around and demand to know <i>what was that</i>. To ask what Markus’ deal is and if he’s trying to replace Leo as Carl’s son or if he’s just an independent caretaker that might like to be <i>friends</i>.</p><p>Leo doesn’t have any programming to put him back on track. He only has his own seedy conscience and bitter experience. It’s hearing the protestor’s chant behind him that reminds him what’s important—Markus isn’t <i>real</i>, no matter how cute he might look on a wayward errand. He’s just a machine, programmed to melt Carl’s heart and try to weasel into Leo’s. Leo won’t let it happen. </p><p>He shoves his hands into his pockets and marches off in the other direction, off to drown out his sorrows so he doesn’t have to think about those pretty green eyes and how <i>happy</i> they can be.</p>
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